


An Irish Werewolf in Hell's Kitchen

by Ilickrocks



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Matt's really just an overgrown puppy, Non-Chronological, Not Beta Read, Snippets, This got long, season 1 rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 13:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17204054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilickrocks/pseuds/Ilickrocks
Summary: ORThe one were fate thinks its funny by making a blind werewolf and a member of a werewolf hunting clan college roommates.





	An Irish Werewolf in Hell's Kitchen

**Author's Note:**

> Just another warning: this story is a series of snippets put together in a non-chronological order. If its too confusing, let me know and I'll come back and number them. Story is also un-beta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

 

Foggy is pulled away from dialing Matt yet again when Karen grabs his arm.

“Foggy!  Look!”  She snatches the remote off the bedside table and cranks the volume in an attempt to drown out the chaos beyond Foggy’s hospital room.  “Its him!”

They watch the news report and the poor-quality security video of the masked man people have been calling “The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen”, and both curse when the video shows the man vanish and become something not human.

“WEREWOLVES IN HELL’S KITCHEN!!!” the news ticker at the bottom of the screen boldly proclaims.

Almost on cue, Foggy’s phone screen lights up with his parent’s phone number.

~~~

Matt had fought Student Housing tooth and nail, insisting that he didn’t need a roommate, that it would be easier for everyone involved if he had a dorm room to himself.  Housing pushed right back, pointing out that, A) Matt was an incoming freshman, and freshmen did not get individual housing, and B) housing was tight this year, and almost no one had been granted individual housing.

It was basically Columbia’s polite of saying “Suck it up, buttercup.”

So, here he was, standing in front what he assumed was room 312 with all his possessions stuffed into the duffle hanging from his shoulder.  Inside the room, Matt could hear music and his assigned roommate cursing at his laptop.  Matt also picked up on a faint musky scent of something that reminded him of delphiniums and it made him want to sneeze.

Introductions didn’t go as Matt expected.  His roommate—Foggy—didn’t seem put off by the idea of having a blind roommate and he was thrilled when he realized who Matt was and was happy to have something in common.

“That’s me!  Foggy Nelson—Hell’s Kitchen, born and bred!”

_Oh…_

Oh, shit.

Matt’s glasses hid his wide eyes as a chill trickled down his spine.

Any werewolf with a lick of self-preservation in the tri-state area knew who the Nelsons of Hell’s Kitchen were.

That musky delphinium-like scent?  Wolfsbane.  Thankfully, there was none physically in the room, but its scent, presumably from the Nelson home, saturated Foggy’s clothes and bedding.  Matt could now pick up the lingering scent of holy water and could hear and smell the silver jewelry dangling from Foggy’s neck and wrists and wrapped around a few of his fingers.

Fate obviously hated Matthew Michael Murdock.

It had to be the only reason why a blind werewolf was now roommates with someone who belonged to a clan of werewolf hunters.

~~~

Jack Murdock may have had a reputation in Hell’s Kitchen as a beast in the boxing ring, but outside the ring, he was known for being a good man.  A devoted and caring single parent to his son Matthew.  A kind-hearted soul who was more than happy to help an old lady cross the street, or rescue a kitten from a tree, or help somebody carry their groceries up six flights.  If you needed help, Jack was your man.

Jack also had a reputation for breaking up street fights before anybody got seriously hurt, beating a little bit of sense into purse-snatchers, and scaring drug dealers away from the playgrounds and schools.

It wasn’t the glorious battlefields of his ancestors and there wouldn’t be any legends told of him, but Jack didn’t care.  It was the most he could do to uphold his clan’s duty and legacy of protecting what was theirs.

~~~

The stick came down, cracking loudly across Matt’s narrow shoulders.

“What the hell was that shit?!” Stick hissed, clearly not moved by the boy’s whimpers of pain.

Matt sniffled and pushed himself back to his feet as he regained himself.  “My Dad said--”  He yelped when the stick jabbed him in the belly, cutting him off.

“I don’t care what your old man said—he’s dead.  You’re not gonna win any fight if you don’t learn to control yourself.  If you can’t even control yourself, how do you expect to control your opponent?  Keep that _thing_ inside you in its cage.  I’m not teaching some damn animal.  Understand?”

“But--”

The stick lashed out again.  “This ain’t up for debate, boy.  Do.  You.  Understand?”

“…Yeah.”

~~~

It takes all of Matt’s control to keep himself from leaning back in his seat and bask in the glow he feels as he listens to Karen describe her attack and subsequent rescue to Sargent Mahoney.  He’s used to people talking about The Man in the Mask (although there are starting to be whispers of The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen skittering around the back alleys and dive bars that no respectable person would be seen at) and using words like “crazy” and “violent” and especially “that asshole broke my nose!”, but the words Karen uses to describe him is something new, and he’s not quite sure what to make of them, but he’s leaning towards being pleased.

Words like “hero” and “amazing” and “he saved me” and “insane flippy shit in the rain—how does he do it?!”

He does bark out a quick laugh and Foggy snorts when Brett asks Karen to describe her rescuer, and the first thing that comes out of her mouth is “Besides looking incredibly hot while soaking wet in a very tight Under Armour shirt…?”

That fight had been a close thing, though.  At that point, Matt’s opponents had been muggers, rapists, and smugglers whose fighting skills only went as far as “take fist A and try to connect with target A” or “shoot target A”.  The hitman who’d been sicced on Karen knew what he was doing and had presented a real challenge for Matt.  The rain had helped though, made it easier to pick up on the man’s movements, made it easier to counter and dodge, and eventually, win the fight.

The Wolf inside had been howling the entire time, clawing at its cage, begging to be released.  Matt had shoved it further down, refusing to give in and lose control—the Wolf was a weakness, a crutch he didn’t need. Being human was enough…right?

~~~

Stick had killed a child behind Matt’s back.  Stick had broken his promise and had killed a child.

The Wolf was. Not. Happy.

Matt broke out of Stick’s hold, and spun, his claws wrapping around Stick’s neck and he slammed his mentor to the floor.  Stick refused to submit and tried to hit Matt, but the Wolf caught Stick’s fist in a tight grip—another ounce of pressure and he could break Stick’s hand.  “The Wolf doesn’t control me—it never has.  I control the Wolf,” Matt snarled and tightened his hold on Stick’s neck, letting his claws prick the delicate skin there.  “And, right now, the Wolf controls **you**.”

Stick’s heart fluttered.  It was small, just one tiny skip in the beat, but it was enough.  Matt had heard it, and Stick knew he had heard it.

“All right, kid.  All right.  I get your point.”

“Get out of my city.”

The Wolf snorted in satisfaction and waited until he was sure that Stick was gone before turning to start cleaning the mess.  His paw jerked back when something crunched underfoot.  His claws delicately plucked up the object and his ears flattened back when he realized what it was.  _He kept it…_ Matt whined.  The Wolf sank to the floor and curled up on itself, the wrapper bracelet still cupped in its hand.

~~~

Karen vehemently defended the Devil after the bombings, insisting that he was a good man, werewolf or not.

The Wolf perked up at her words.

Foggy scoffed, and spat venom about the Devil, firmly believing the man needed to be put down like a rabid dog after a very quick trial.

The Wolf shied away and hid itself deeper.

~~~

Foggy was fuming again when entered the family deli.  Theo glanced up from his homework and promptly pointed down.  

“Mom’s downstairs.”

Foggy gave his brother a jerky nod and headed into the basement and then for the hidden sublevel below that, where his mother was tidying up their supplies.  She took one look at him and promptly abandoned her tasks and wrapped Foggy up in a hug.

“Oh, honey…  What’s wrong?  Did you find out about Matt?”

Jerking away, Foggy stared down at his mother.  “What-?  You know about Matt??  You know what he is?”

“There’s a reason I’m the family archivist, dear…”

“Why-  For how long??  Why didn’t you tell me?!” Foggy sputtered.

“Right after the bombings.  And it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

He huffed in frustration and dropped into a near-by chair.  “How can you be so calm about this?!  He’s lied to us—to me!—for years!  We’ve let a werewolf into our home!  The very thing we’re supposed to stop!  And he’s known who we are since the beginning!  What if he’s some kind of spy??”

Anna patted Foggy’s shoulder.  “Matt is not a threat to this family, and he isn’t a danger to Hell’s Kitchen.  He isn’t what you think he is.  That’s why I ordered the others to stop their hunt for the Devil.”

“What?!  But-but those bombs-!  The shooting-!”

“Use that lawyer brain of yours that we paid so much money for, Foggy.  If Matt was trapped in that building, how could he possibly shoot those police officers from a point across the street?  And do you honestly believe that Matt, the same Matt you’ve known since you were 18, could possibly do those sorts of things?”

“But-! He-!”  He slumped in his seat, flushed with shame.  “…No.  Matt would never do that.”

~~~

“I tried to kill a man the other night.”

Father Lantom shifted and draped his arm over the back of the pew so he face the bruised man sitting in the pew behind him.  “I’m assuming that since we’re not in a confessional, you didn’t succeed?”  He silently prayed that Matthew hadn’t.

“No.  But…I wanted to.  He’s hurt so many people and gotten away with it.  Its almost like he’s untouchable and I thought killing him was the only way to stop him.”

“You don’t think that now?”

Matthew shook his head.  “I can be judge and jury, but I can’t be the executioner.  Fisk **has** to face justice for what he’s done regardless of my opinions about him.”  He paused, fidgeting with his cane.  “Do you…  Do you think I’m damned now?  That God could ever forgive me for almost breaking one of His Commandments?”

“Are you sorry you did it?”  Matt nodded.  “Are you going to do it again?”  Matt shook his head.  “God understands that no one is perfect, that all of us slip up occasionally.  If are truly sorry for what we’ve done and do our best to make amends, He is sure to forgive anything.”

“Even if they’re someone like me?  Some _thing_ like me?”

The priest sighed.  “…I know about your kind, Matthew.  I know the faelad are not the cursed souls we hear so much about.  I’ve heard the stories about how the Laighnach Faelad worshipped a bloodthirsty god and demanded the flesh of infants in return for their services and I know that was propaganda cooked up to send the hunters after your kind.  I’ve heard how your kind is said to be blessed by the Morrigan and charged with protecting those who were weaker.  And I’ve also heard how the Irish werewolves are considered God’s own dogs, how they would march into Hell to retrieve stolen goods and insure that there would be a good harvest.  Most importantly, I know you, Matthew, and I knew your father.  I know you’re both good men and try your best to help and protect your fellow man.  If God did not view you as one of His children, you would not be sitting here, in His house, seeking to sooth your troubled soul.”

~~~

Foggy had been worried that he would be stuck with some total weirdo for a roommate, but once he realized who the male model that had wandered into 312 was, Foggy felt like he had hit the jackpot.  A fellow Kitchen kid and a real hero to boot!  Foggy was sure they’d become fast friends.

Except…Matt was very closed off, almost wary when he was around Foggy.  And he hardly spent any time in their room, even on weekends Matt spent his time in the library studying.  They walked to shared classes together, and sat next to each other, but Foggy could tell Matt was still maintaining some form of distance.  After a month of this, Foggy asked if something was wrong, did Foggy stink?  Matt had blinked behind his dark glasses and stumbled over an answer.  He admitted he had a delicate sense of smell and something about Foggy’s clothes and bedding bothered him, enough to the point that prolonged exposure gave Matt headaches.

Matt insisted it wasn’t a big deal and that he’d maintain his distance…Foggy didn’t need to make any big changes for him.

Foggy smacked that idea right down and promptly headed out to buy completely different laundry detergent and dryer sheets, along with a bottle of aspirin.  He spent a month’s worth of laundry credits in a day by washing his entire wardrobe, all his bedding, and even sent his pillows through a cycle in the dryer.

Matt had gotten a weird look on his face that afternoon when he came back and was asked if his sniffer picked up on anything weird.

The headaches faded away.  Matt studied in their room more.  They talked more and got to know each other better (despite his stoic nature, Matt was an utter NERD).  Foggy started double checking with Matt about anything he brought into their room, from deodorant to take out, making sure nothing bothered Matt’s sense of smell.  Somehow, Foggy had started to chip away at Matt’s emotional wall.

At least, that’s what he thought until he invited Matt to join him for a Nelson Thanksgiving.  Matt had stiffened, hesitated, and declined the invitation.  Foggy tried one more time before leaving on Thanksgiving break, but Matt turned him down again.

Matt’s headaches came back that Monday and Foggy realized it was something in the Nelson house that was bothering Matt.  He talked with his mother and she promised she’d figure something out in time for the holiday break.

Which ended up being pointless, since Matt declined Foggy’s invitation to spend winter break at the Nelson household.  Foggy figured it had to be something related to growing up in an orphanage, but that didn’t dampen the guilt he felt Christmas morning when he was surrounded by family and pictured Matt all alone in their tiny dorm room.

Spring Break arrived months later and Foggy practically frog-marched Matt out of their room and down to the subway stop that would take them back to Hell’s Kitchen.  “One day, Matty!  Just one day!  My parents want to meet the awesome roommate I keep telling them about and I want to prove that he’s a real boy!  One day, that’s all I’m asking!  After that, you can go back to being a dorm troll.”

Matt ended up staying the whole week.

~~~

“Soooo,” Claire drawled, mischief clear in her voice, “what you’re telling me is that you see yourself as top dog and Hell’s Kitchen is where you’ve peed on all the hydrants?”

She smiled at Matt’s pout as he served her breakfast.  “Wolf.  I've told you: wolf.  I’m not a dog.”

“I don’t know…  This-” she waved her hand towards her plate “-feels pretty domestic to me…”

Claire giggled when Matt growled as ducked down and nuzzled behind her ear.  “I’ll show you domestic…”

~~~

Matt didn’t have the funds to get an off-campus apartment, he couldn’t stay at the orphanage, and he couldn’t exactly check the “other” box on the room transfer request form and fill out the why with “I’m concerned my roommate might try to stuff a bundle of wolfsbane down my throat or chop my head off with a silver axe.”

He was pretty sure that explanation would have all the aerodynamic grace of a brick.

So, he was stuck for the semester at least and he kept the transfer request form tucked away in his desk.

He tried to keep his distance, the Wolf paranoid that something would give him away, even though he wasn’t like his animalistic counterparts, and he would soon find himself facing down a squad of fully armed Nelsons.  He kept waiting to see if he had slipped up, for anti-werewolf weapons or spells to show up, to overhear Foggy discussing hunting tactics with his family over the phone, but none of that came.  Weeks slipped by and Foggy never acted suspicious around Matt.

Matt tried to keep himself unattached, but Foggy was just so…so FRIENDLY and open and funny and…and…

Foggy Nelson was the best thing to happen to Matt…if one totally ignored the whole werewolf hunter clan thing.

Foggy worked around Matt’s blindness like it was nothing, always making sure their floor was clean, always announcing his presence so he wouldn’t startle Matt (even though it was entirely unnecessary).  He didn’t grab Matt and drag him around—he asked if Matt would like to be guided and what was the best way to do it.  He described gestures, facial expressions, their surroundings.  He brought a vibrancy into Matt’s life that he didn’t realize he’d been missing out on.

And then he started to shift his entire lifestyle when he managed to wash the lingering smell of wolfsbane from all his clothes and bedding.  Matt had never experienced someone who’d sacrifice something familiar just to make sure Matt was comfortable.  He was utterly flabbergasted when Foggy started checking in with everything he brought into their room after that and numbly gave his approval.

Matt’s guard was just starting to drop when the invitation to Thanksgiving came.  The Wolf bristled.  The logical part of Matt insisted it wasn’t a trap, Foggy didn’t suspect anything.

Paranoia won.

His fingers brushed over the transfer form again and it was shoved back in his desk.  It was safer to stay for now, safer to be able to keep an eye, or ear, on Foggy and know if the Nelsons were planning something.

The form was crumpled up and tossed when Matt smelled the honest disappointment when he turned down the invitation to spend winter break with the Nelsons.

He put up a token protest about spending Spring Break with the Nelsons, but the Nelsons had deep cleaned their home above their deli, removing most of the smell of wolfsbane from the apartment, and the opened windows blew away the rest (even though Matt could still pick up on their hunter stash locked away in the hidden sublevel, it was far enough away to not be a bother).  Foggy’s parents welcomed Matt with open arms, like he was some long-lost cousin, and he was quickly brought into the fold.  (Matt did wonder if they’d be so welcoming if they knew what he was.)  Candance and Theo were just like their big brother and didn’t treat Matt any different because of his blindness.

By the end of break, Matt regretted not meeting Foggy’s family sooner and the Wolf agreed—anyone who fed him like _that_ couldn’t be all that bad.

By the end of the spring semester, the pair planned on remaining roommates, and they did all the way through undergrad, through law school, and up to their internship at Landman & Zach, when they decided to do the adult thing and get their own places.

There were a few things that Foggy did that should have set off alarms, like always being secretly armed with some sort of silver weapon or carrying a small flask of holy water, but Matt and the Wolf adapted.  Those were just how Foggy had been raised.  Foggy wasn’t a fully trained hunter, but no one could accuse him of being unprepared.  None of those things meant that he was going to attack Matt, and he took comfort in the knowledge that Foggy could protect himself when Matt couldn’t be there.

Foggy was the best friend Matt thought he’d never have.  He dreaded the day when Foggy would find out and everything would fall apart.

~~~

At the first sign that something was very wrong in Matt’s apartment, Foggy tugged the silver dagger he kept hidden from its back sheath—he may have opted to not complete his training, but he wasn’t stupid.  “If anybody’s there, I’m warning you—I **will** mess you up!”

The raspy breaths coming from Matt’s bedroom got louder as the intruder staggered into the open.  Foggy tensed at the sight of the werewolf that had been terrorizing Hell’s Kitchen, and tightened his grip on his weapon, preparing to attack, but he paused when the shifting pink and purple lights of the billboard highlighted just how **ragged** the wolf was.  The wolf swung its big head towards Foggy, the dim yellow eyes locking Foggy into place.  It tried to take a step forward, but it wobbled, and its knees gave out, landing hard against the floor.  Foggy must have blinked because the wolf was suddenly gone, leaving only the masked man, and without the thick fur covering, it was now very clear that this man had had the shit beaten out of him and then some.

A trembling hand pulled out a flip phone and held it out to Foggy.  “Call Claire…  Please-  Claire-”  The phone slipped from the man’s fingers and clattered to the floor, and the man was soon to follow, hitting the floor with a heavy ‘thud’.

Foggy slowly knelt, eyeing the blood that was slowly starting to pool under the Devil.  His fingers twitched around the dagger’s grip as his mind warred over his options:  watch the werewolf die from his injuries or end his suffering with a sharp thrust angled up under the rib cage or call the authorities and let them deal with this mess.

But…there was just something about that jawline…

Foggy peeled back the mask and option #4 quickly wiped the other three away.

~~~

They’d danced around each other for days.

“How’d you know I was here?”  Matt gave the bag a half-hearted punch before reaching out to steady it.

Foggy shrugged.  “Wasn’t too hard to figure it out…”  He settled on a near-by bench and forced his posture to remain casual.  _Don’t corner an injured wolf when you’re alone—be prepared for a BIG fight if you do._   Foggy remembered his lessons and made sure he wasn’t between Matt and the door.  _Give them an out and you might survive._   While Foggy couldn’t hear ants fart or smell last week’s breakfast like Matt could, Foggy was very good at reading body language.  The way Matt tilted his head told Foggy that Matt was marking possible escape routes.  Though Matt presented a bored facade, the way he kept obstacles like the punching bags and benches between them reminded Foggy of how prey avoided their predators.  Matt’s poorly disguised fear was a knife to Foggy’s gut and it twisted when Matt subtly positioned himself, readying himself for a fight.  “You can relax—Mom called back the troops.  Its just us.”

This statement had the exact opposite effect—Matt stiffened and turned white.  “Your mom-?!  She- She **knows**??!  And she told your family?!!”

Foggy could read the start of a panic attack and swore to himself.  He wanted nothing more than to go to Matt and comfort him, but Matt would not welcome Foggy’s closeness at this point.  “Just Mom.  She’s been doing research since that video from the night of the bombings was released—we do have records of all the wolf clans, and while it was really hard for her to find, your family is in there.  She only told the family to back off and sent out the word to other hunters to leave the Devil alone.  She didn’t tell me why, but she did tell me that I should talk to you and that I should listen.  So, this is me, listening.  Give me what you got, Murdock.”

~~~

“So, someday, when you’re older, you might be called to protect your home, just like what our family has done for many generations.”

Matt leaned back from his seat on Jack’s lap and clutched his little plush dog harder.  “But I don’t wanna kill people!  All those people on the tv say wolves are bad cuz they kill lots of people!”

Jack pulled his son back in for a hug, “We’re not like those other werewolves, Matty.  We’re descendants of the Laighnach Faelad!  Our ancestors begged the gods for protection from the raids that were destroying their lands, and the Morrigan came to them and gifted them with the ability to turn into the Wolf.  In return, Morrigan charged our ancestors with the protection of Ireland, and that’s what we Laighnach Faelad ever done since:  we protect what is ours.  We aren’t cursed like those other wolves—we keep our human minds and hearts and we aren’t mindless killers.  A lot of people forget that.  We’re guardians—never forget that.”

~~~

Hearing how Elena Cardenas had died, smelling her body there in the morgue, made the Wolf bash against its cage bars.  Without another word, Matt spun on his heel, he hurried out of the room and down the hall, ignoring Karen and Foggy’s calls.  He had to get out before the Wolf made itself known.

The Wolf had claimed Mrs. Cardenas as **his**.  He would find her killers.

~~~

A snarl echoed across the darkened garage and a man screamed.

Some _thing_ was taking out Sergei’s men.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he spied the woman trying to crawl away.  He grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her back.  She shrieked when he hauled her up against him and pressed the gun to her head.

“I’ll kill her!  Watch me!  I will kill her!”

“I don’t think so.”

Sergei gasped at the deep growling voice.  A big clawed hand reached over his shoulder and snatched the gun out Sergei’s hand and spun him around, forcing him to release the woman.  He stared up at the yellow eyes that glared at him from the dark.  Just when Sergei’s brain started to put words to what he was seeing, a bat smashed into his head.

Claire dropped the bat and muffled her sobs with her fists.  Long arms wrapped around her and pulled her against a solid furry chest.  Mike curled around her shuddering form and gently rocked her.  “I got you…  You’re safe now.  I got you…”

~~~

Nelson and Murdock were guided to the interrogation room that held their first client.  The petite woman smelled of blood and tears and fear.  She told her story and she was not lying.

 _Mine mine mine…_ the Wolf crooned.  _Mine!  Protect!_

Matt had no objections to that.

~~~

Matt pinned Fisk’s arm, bringing the beating to a stop.  The Devil had had his fun—it was the Wolf’s turn now.

Fisk gasped and released the staff and staggered back when the faelad stood to his full height.  Matt’s hand shot out, snagging the crimelord by his shirt collar and thrust him against the alley wall.  “MY city!  MY family!” he snarled, his fangs snapping millimeters away from Fisk’s terrified face.  A silver shiv slid into Fisk’s hand from its hidden holster and was stabbed into Matt’s forearm.  Fisk stared, horrified, as the werewolf didn’t scream in pain, and he met the faelad’s glowing yellow eyes as it chuckled, its lips twisting back in a smirk, revealing more sharp teeth.  “That isn’t going to work on me…”  With a flick of his wrist, he flung the big man away and he collided with the dumpster—he collapsed to the ground, out cold.

It had been sorely tempting for Matt to dig his claws in, to draw blood, to sink his fangs into Fisk’s tender throat, to put an end to the madness that man had brought to Hell’s Kitchen, but no.  Fisk would face justice for everything he had done.

A siren whooped, and Matt’s head swung towards toward the alley’s entrance and the racing heartbeat that was now standing there.

Brett.

“Jesus-!”

“I’m not what your think I am…”  The Wolf retreated, leaving only the Devil.  “I’m not the bad guy here, Sargent.  I’m making a citizen’s arrest on an escaped prisoner.”  Matt stepped back and snatched up his staff.  “Please make sure he stays in custody this time…”

Brett blinked, and the red-armored Devil was already scrambling up the fire escape.  The sargent huffed and holstered his revolver.  “The press is gonna love this…”

~~~

 _Dumb, dumb, dumb!!  How could you have been so damn dumb?!_   Matt continued to curse himself out as his claws sunk into the wood of the dock piling and hauled himself out of the Hudson with a whine.  _Should have known Fisk was there…  Should have known that…that ninja was there!  I charged right into his trap like a damn idiot!_

The Wolf had tracked down Elena’s killer and the drug addict had squeaked out a location where to find the man who hired him.  The ninja had somehow hidden his presence until it was almost too late.

Ninjas versus werewolves.

Seriously.  What was Matt’s life?

And this ninja knew how to fight werewolves.  The Wolf simmered just under the surface, pleading to let loose— _He’s better than you…He WILL kill you_ —but Matt kept the Wolf inside, protecting the Wolf.  He wasn’t going to risk exposing the Wolf to something that could kill it while it would just be an irritant to the human.

The Wolf was right though:  the ninja severely outclassed Matt as a fighter and was slicing Matt to shreds with his silver kusarigama.  Either way—human or faelad—Matt was well and truly fucked.

And then a miracle.

Matt didn’t have the time to enjoy his unexpected victory.  When he had first walked in, he felt like he was the predator, and Fisk was the prey.

Their roles had clearly switched.

Matt burned with rage at Fisk’s taunts and let the Wolf out, not caring that he was already weakened from blood loss and that Fisk had been ready for him.  A face full of powdered wolfsbane lead to a beating from Fisk himself and Matt had retreated with his tail literally between his legs.

The Wolf staggered to Matt’s apartment.  The Hudson had washed away most of the wolfsbane, but it was still in his system and he could feel its effects spreading with each step he took.  Turning human wouldn’t matter now and the Wolf was the only thing keeping him upright.  He teetered on the edge when he collapsed on his bed and then he heard someone banging on his door.

Foggy.

He whined and struggled to stand.  Foggy would help…

~~~

Karen’s form was practically vibrating with happiness as they supervised Foggy putting up the plaque.  “The papers are calling him “Daredevil” now.”  She skimmed over the front page again, her cheeks creaking as her smile widened.  “I **told** you he was a good guy!”

Foggy only snorted as he paused to make sure the sign was straight before hammering in the final nail.  “Daredevil, huh?  And here I was hoping they would stick with “Hellhound”…”

Matt tipped his face skyward, silently thanking God, Brett, the Bulletin, all his ancestors, and even the Morrigan, that the media did **not** stick with that other name.

He was already facing a future full of dog puns and he didn’t need the media encouraging Foggy even more.

~~~

Foggy was numb as he watched Matt struggle to breathe.  Claire fretted as she pressed her stethoscope to Matt’s chest.

“I don’t understand!  I got him stabilized and he isn’t losing any more blood.  I couldn’t find any internal bleeding.  He shouldn’t be doing this!  Did he say anything to you?  Tell you if he was poisoned?”

“…No.  But…but he did throw up after I called…  What are his symptoms?”

“Heavy sweating, difficulty breathing, his heart rate has dropped like a rock and he’s become arrhythmic.”

Foggy’s brows furrowed together.  “…Aconitine.”

“What?  Aconitine?  Isn’t that-?”

“Wolfsbane.  Matt’s been exposed to wolfsbane.”  Foggy spun on his heel and hurried over to his bag and pulled out what looked like an epi-pen.  All werewolf hunters ran the risk of aconitine poisoning, and as such, smart hunters carried the antitoxin on them at all times.  While rarely fatal without immediate treatment, aconitine poisoning was not fun for humans.  In werewolves, the symptoms hit harder and faster and were ALWAYS fatal.

Matt was dying.

Hurrying back to the couch, Foggy nudged Claire out of the way and pulled the blanket away from Matt’s shuddering body.  He jabbed the epi-pen against Matt’s exposed thigh and pressed the button, injecting the antitoxin.

Now, all they could do was wait and see if it had been enough.

~~~

They’d won.  They had won.

Hoffman was alive and in the hands of the FBI.

Fisk was going down.

Marci’s files had been instrumental in finding Hoffman, and Karen’s keen eyes had spotted the discrepancies.  The Wolf had raced through alleys and over rooftops and had gotten to Hoffman just in time.  Dramatics, a sucker punch, and few bared fangs was more than enough to motivate Hoffman to surrender himself to Sargent Mahoney and make a full confession.

Fisk was going down.

And the best part?  The best part was when Foggy and Karen joined Matt at the precinct house.  Foggy had squeezed Matt’s arm and whispered, “Good job, Matty.”

~~~

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“…which part?”

“Any of it.  All of it.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You know why, Foggy…”

Foggy huffed in frustration.  “Ok, fine.  You, werewolf, me, hunter.  Whatever!  Did you ever once consider telling me about this?  And even after over 10 years, you still don’t trust me??  Do you seriously think you aren’t safe around me?!”

“When would have been a good time to tell you?  This isn’t exactly something you let slip at the dinner table, especially a **Nelson** dinner table.”  Matt grunted as he shifted on the pillows propping him upright.  “And I **was** safe, because you didn’t know.”

“Oh, bullshit!  If you really felt threatened by me, why did you even bother to stick around after our first semester, our freshman year, and all those years we roomed together?  I thought you were my best friend!”

“No, you’re best friends with Matt Murdock, human.  You wouldn’t be friends with the Wolf—you wanted to put him down because you saw him as a “rabid dog”...”

Foggy’s temper finally snapped.  “Goddammit!” he snarled, pushing himself out of his seat so he could storm over to the couch and loom over Matt.  “You—”

He almost missed it—if he hadn’t been so focused on Matt, he would have missed it.  The slight widening of Matt’s eyes, the tightening of his fingers on the blanket, the subtle way that Matt pulled away as his breath caught for just a moment.

It was like somebody had dropped a bucket of ice water over Foggy.

Matt…Matt was **afraid** of Foggy.

“I- I can’t talk to you like this right now…”  The words stumbled out of Foggy’s mouth, “I can’t- I can’t do this anymore…”  He grabbed his things and hurried down the hall, slamming the door behind him as he left.

~~~

After the craziness of the past few months, just being able to have a cold beer or three, kick his feet up on Matt’s coffee table, and enjoy the company of his best friend, was truly a blessing for Foggy.  It was a definite step towards repairing their friendship.

 _Speaking of which…_ Foggy rolled his head against the back of the couch and eyed Matt melting into the couch beside him.  “Hey, Matty.  Lemme see.”

Matt cracked open one eye.  “Hmm?”  Tilting his face towards Foggy, “You suddenly go blind?”

“No, smartass.  I wanna see it.  Your more hirsute self.”

“…Why?  You’ve seen it before…”

“Yeah…from shitty security video and when you looked more like a drowned sewer rat.  I’d like to see you in all your lupine glory, in full daylight.”

“…All right.”  Matt finished off his bottle and pushed himself off the couch.  He stepped into the more open part of the loft and, suddenly, the Wolf was standing there.

The transformation alone should have told Foggy that Matt was not like other werewolves.  It wasn’t the bone crunching, clothes ripping, painful screaming shift of a normal lycanthrope.  This was a blink and you missed it change.

Other details became apparent as Foggy closed the distance between them.  (He could also tell that Matt was nervous, if the way his ears were twisting back and forth were any indication.)

Five fingers instead of the four a normal werewolf had.  (Foggy had taken Matt’s hand and lightly traced over the long fingers and claws, claws that Matt had carefully curled in earlier, like he was trying to hide them from view.)

The faelad was built different from other werewolves too.  Werewolves typically had longer arms and shorter legs and were more muscular.  Matt had much more human proportions and had a leaner build.  He was also shorter—werewolves could reach heights of around 10 feet, while Matt was ‘only’ around 8 feet tall.  Matt slouched a little, but he didn’t possess the pronounced slouch werewolves had.

Foggy had thought the Wolf was a dark brown, but now, in the afternoon light, he saw he was wrong.  The light glinted off the faelad’s fur, bringing out the red highlights in the mostly brown fur…just like Matt’s hair.

He had to crane his head back to be able to look Matt in the eye—solid gold eyes that seemed to glow from an inner light—at least until Matt settled down onto his haunches.  Foggy’s fingers sunk into the thick ruff of fur that covered the faelad’s upper chest, shoulders, and neck and found himself already formulating ways to convince Matt to shift just so Foggy could pet the thick soft fur.

And then his fingers found Matt’s ears…

Matt froze at the first touch, then when Foggy started to rub, the Wolf absolutely melted.  A faint thumping noise could be heard and Foggy paused and pulled away to peer over Matt’s shoulder.

He grinned.  “Are- Are you seriously wagging your tail??”

Matt groaned and pressed his head against Foggy’s chest.  “Oh, shut up.  It has a mind of its own.  Now,” he grabbed Foggy’s hands and put them right back where they had been, “go back to what you were doing before…  I know you want to.”

Foggy laughed and happily obliged.  “Can I give you belly rubs too?”

Yeah, they were going to be all right.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This thing got away from me REAL fast...
> 
> Anyway, the research I did regarding Ireland and its werewolves ended up being a bit confusing, so I basically bastardized the legends regarding the Werewolves of Ossory, the Laighnach Faelad, the Fianna, and the Morrigan's connection to werewolves and smushed them all together. If you are Irish, and/or are an expert or love Celtic lore, apologies, and please do not come after my non-Irish self (though 23 & Me isn't quite sure about that yet...).
> 
> Thoughts?


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